Death is an art, more colourfull than the blue sky
No painters and composer can frame it
Death is much softer than the flying feather
It has a sweet soft music
Every time you come home
You will see new leaves
New branch with new flower
The tree you have seen last time
Death is not the end of the life
It's a moment, a short time
In the eternity
Floating in the air
Spread your time in an open air
In front of you under the sunshine
You will see yourself within and without.
The known world where I live in
Is now sick
The blue smiling sky has turned grey and ash
The sound of fallen leaves is no longer there.
Amazing intoxicating game
I am merely a doll
You create, uncreate and recreate
The way you like.
I create words out of
Silences and darkness
I brush the invisibility
With my own color.
I live in silence of non existence
I play music of soundlessness
I compose words with fire
With fire pen on a piece of fire.
How can I put off my lamp of desire
created by my God dearest
and pampered by friends dearest.
Desires have no horizon, frontier or border
A poet can dream creating a sun
and place it on the track
and order it to move on the track
from east to west